


chocolate chip cookies and takeout

by interstellarbeams



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: Baking, Cute Kids, F/M, Family Dinners, Family Fluff, Gen, Nosy Rufus Carlin, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2020-12-20 18:07:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21060935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/interstellarbeams/pseuds/interstellarbeams
Summary: Lucy is baking for the girl’s school bake sale and Rufus thinks this is a very bad idea.





	chocolate chip cookies and takeout

**Author's Note:**

> Thank to Katie for being so awesome and editing this for me! 
> 
> Dedicated to Lauren! Here’s hoping you have a speedy recovery and are back on your feet soon! 💕
> 
> For Lyattverse’s Lyatt Week — Sorry I’m late, but I finally got the inspiration to finish it! 
> 
> Kudos and comments are appreciated! <3

Rufus opened the front door of the Logans’ house and walked right in. His best friends didn’t typically enjoy his way of bursting into their home whenever he liked, but they had yet to lock him out so he figured it must not be too big of a deal. 

_Mmm, smells good in here, Lucy must have lit a candle_, he thought to himself as he crossed the shiny floor of the foyer and headed toward the kitchen, where he heard the faint sound of pans rattling. 

He picked his way over the toys that were strewn across the living room floor, narrowly avoiding a collision with a hot pink Barbie convertible complete with driver before he arrived safely in the kitchen. 

“_Rufus_!” Lucy pressed a hand to her heart when she turned and caught sight of him standing in the doorway. “Don’t scare me like that! What are you doing in here?” 

“Sorry, the door was unlocked.”

Lucy huffed and rolled her eyes but turned back to whatever she was doing. 

Rufus glanced around the room, noting the crayon drawings on the fridge and the brightly colored alphabet magnets that bedecked the shining stainless steel. The countertops were strewn with flour and the chicken-shaped timer on top of the stove ticked away merrily. The buttery smell of cookies baking, which he had thought was a sweet-smelling scented candle, was in fact _actual_ cookies baking. 

“No, Lucy, you didn’t.” The sound of the oven door slamming added ending punctuation to his statement. 

“Didn’t what?”

She turned back around, a cookie tray in one hand and an apron smeared in flour covering her from chest to knees. Her curls were pulled back in a ponytail but tiny wisps escaped, probably from the warmth in the air from the heat of the oven. 

“Oh no, you _did_. Why, Lucy?”

“Why did I do what, Rufus? Stop being so cryptic. It’s annoying.”

“You’re baking.” Rufus dropped his face into his hands, pushing his fingers into his eye sockets before he lifted his head to pin her with a serious look. 

“What is the problem? I’m baking, so what?” She dropped the empty cookie sheet to the kitchen island with a bang that would have scared him to death if he hadn’t been paying attention.

“Why are you baking? _Lucy_ … you can’t even be trusted to pack the girl’s lunches. What makes you think you can bake? That’s science! You’re a history professor, remember?”

“Yes, Rufus, I remember what my chosen profession is. Why are you here harassing me in my kitchen? Wyatt’s in the backyard.”

“Well, I can’t very well ignore the fact that you’re baking to go shoot the breeze with Wyatt.”

“Why can’t you?” Lucy propped her gingham oven-mitt-covered fists on her hips as she stared him down, teacher style.

“_Because_ …” Rufus trailed off, suddenly figuring out that it probably wasn’t a good idea for him to be interrogating Lucy, especially when that look showed up in her eyes. 

She searched his face for a moment, her brown eyes serious, before she removed her oven mitts to walk over to the sink. “That’s what I thought.”

“I’m sorry, _OK_, but you have to admit that cooking isn’t your strong suit.” 

“I can admit that. I know I’m not the best, but Wyatt has uttered zero complaints, so I don’t think yours count.”

After a moment of silence, punctuated by the sound of the timer going off, Rufus stood and climbed up onto one of the bar stools in front of the island, deciding it probably made him look more knowledgeable, on the topic of Lucy’s baking, if he wasn’t leaning against the counter like a teenager. 

“It’s the girl’s school. They’re having a bake sale this weekend. And don’t worry, I didn’t make these.” She opened the fridge and reached into one of the drawers before pulling out a roll of chocolate chip cookie dough. “I just put the flour on the apron to fool the girls if they happen to come home from Emily’s early. They don’t know all their sleepover cookies are from the refrigerated section or that their mom isn’t a baking genius and I want to keep it that way, for now.”

Rufus felt like an ass. Of course, Lucy knew what her strengths were and what she wasn’t that great at. She was only trying to give her daughters the best childhood experiences that she could. One that she and Wyatt hadn’t had much of with the unfortunate gift of their own negligent parents. 

“Thank God. I thought I was gonna have to call the CDC or something.”

“Oh, shut up! I’m baking the dough, aren’t I? Plus it’s not like you’re the best at everything. And don’t mention that _Galaga_ game from your nerdy high school days, nobody cares what your score is in this decade.” 

“Lucy, that is the worst thing you have ever said to me!” Rufus pretended to be hurt, but he knew Lucy wasn’t fooled as she rolled her eyes at him and started putting the already cooled cookies into a pink bakery box.

“I’m sure if you thought hard enough you could come up with worse,” Lucy deadpanned before untying the apron, lifting it over her head and hanging it on the hook in the pantry.

Rufus felt like laughing. He knew she was making fun of him, but the familiar back and forth made him miss their days living in the bunker. Well, sort of. 

The back door opened with the rattle of glass and Wyatt rounded the corner, stopping long enough to clap him on the shoulder with a “Hey, man” before he moved to kiss his wife.

“Well, it’s been fun and all, but I’ve had enough of watching y’all make out to last me a lifetime. I’ll let myself out.” He slapped his palms down on the island, good naturedly, as he got up and left the room, satisfied that the good people of Palo Alto weren’t about to be infected by Lucy's abhorrent cooking.

————

“What was Rufus doing here?” Wyatt pulled a beer from the fridge and leaned up against the counter to take a swig, the smudge of flour on Lucy’s cheek making him smile as he watched her.

“Oh, I don’t even know. As soon as he saw me in the kitchen, he went into a rant about me baking and I never heard anything else from him.” 

“Weird.” 

“Yeah, I mean, I know I can’t cook but I don’t think I need Rufus to tell me what I can and can’t do in my own kitchen.”

Wyatt shook his head at their friend’s strange ways. Taking another drink of his beer, he set it down on the counter and moved closer. He was determined to spend some alone time with his wife while Flynn and Amy were still over at their friend’s house. And now that Rufus had let himself out, they had the house to themselves.

He swiped a thumb across her cheek, wiping away the powdery residue before he dropped his hands to her waist and crowded her up against the counter. Lucy wrapped her arms around his neck and tilted her head back. He couldn’t help admiring the gleam in her brown eyes as she looked up at him — a look of love that only he was privy to. 

He lifted a hand to brush it across  
the tiny hairs that had sprung up around her hairline — baby hairs were what she called them when she combed their girl’s hair — that gave her a youthful look. Wyatt wondered what she looked like as a teenager. He had only been to her mother’s home once before they were married, but he hadn’t caught sight of any family photos in the dimness of the entryway. 

It was strange to not have any photos of your past life. Wyatt knew that well, having very few photos of his childhood left after his mother’s death and his father’s neglect — taking photos of him had never been a high priority. Lucy probably had some photos of her own that she had in her apartment when they first met but all the ones that her mother had taken of her were now tainted by lies and her mother’s callous treatment of Lucy’s feelings. She had told him, after their marriage, that she didn’t want to dwell on the past and that the photos brought all that to the forefront, but Wyatt knew for a fact that Amy’s photo still held a special place in Lucy’s heart and she still took it out to look at almost daily.

The photos hanging on the front of the fridge reminded Wyatt that he hadn’t had very much to eat since that morning’s breakfast as he had been busy working in the yard and hadn’t taken the time to stop and eat a proper lunch. The thought suddenly made his stomach growl and he wondered what they would order for dinner tonight as Lucy’s attempts at cooking were poor at best and his skills extended to MRE’s, toast and pancakes for the girl’s weekend breakfasts. 

“Did you tell Rufus about all the takeout?” he teased, pulling back to catch the full effect of her outraged face as she smacked his arm. 

“No, and I don’t want you telling him either. Next thing we know he’ll be bringing us sympathy meals made by his mom and I can’t put Ms. Carlin out like that.” 

“I won’t tell him. I always keep your secrets, don’t I?”

Lucy pretended to think about it, pressing one finger to her chin, reminding him of her persona when they had been on the hunt for Bonnie and Clyde. The only thing that was missing was that pink dress that was as smooth against her form as water over a river rock. She probably shouldn’t know how many times she and that dress had featured in his dreams before they had become a couple. 

“I think so.” She smiled as she stood on tiptoes, her cheek pressed up against his, “Do you want to know another secret?”

“I don’t know.” He tried playing it cool. “Depends on what it is.” 

He smirked when she pulled back, her fingers pressing against the side of his neck as she lowered herself back down. 

She quirked an eyebrow at him and he had to wonder what she had in mind when she surged back toward him and captured his lips with her own. He gripped her waist with desperate fingers as she pressed her whole body against his. Her hands grasped at the front of his flannel shirt, fiercely, as if she could pull him any closer than they already were. He stroked a hand down the side of her neck, his thumb brushing against the smooth skin of her clavicle with her harsh breath heavy in his ear.

Suddenly Lucy’s phone started to ring from the kitchen island and Wyatt groaned as she moved away from him to reach it.

“Hello? Oh yes — yes, of course. Be right there. One second.” She hung up and set the phone back down. “Sorry, it’s Mrs. Sloan. The girls are outside. I’ll go get them.”

Wyatt sighed dramatically and leaned against the sink, resting his palms on the edge of the countertop. _So much for alone time_, he thought ruefully, but then Amy and Flynn were running into the kitchen, their arms outstretched as they came toward him and he forgot all about his disappointment.

“Daddy!” they cried in twin voices. “We missed you.” 

“I missed you, too.” He bent so he could more easily wrap his arms around both of them. “Did you have fun at … was it Emilia’s house?”

“No, Daddy!” Flynn propped one fist on her hip. “Not Emilia.”

“Ellen?” He turned to look at Amy who eyes lit up mirthfully as she shook her head no.

“Not Emilia or Ellen? Well who were you visiting?” 

“EMILY!” They both yelled and Wyatt pressed a hand to his chest in pretend shock, falling back against the cabinets like he had been knocked out.

“Wyatt, can’t you be dramatic someplace else?” Lucy teased as she stepped back into the kitchen.

“Dramatic? Who’s dramatic? I only know Emily.” 

The girls giggled pressing small hands over their mouths, as they looked between their parents. Wyatt straightened up then and moved to stand, an uncontrollable grin lifting his lips at the love that surged through him as he watched his girls grin with delight. He had done that, _him_, their father. It still amazed him that he was here, living this life, when his life had been so disappointing and unsatisfactory before he met Lucy. 

The girls took off their backpacks and set them on the bench across from the kitchen island before crowding up to their mother and telling her they were hungry.

“You didn’t get a snack at Emily's? I was sure Mrs. Sloan told me so, just now, out by her car.” Lucy propped her fists onto her hips and stared them down. Amy had the good sense to look abashed, but Flynn continued to look up at her innocently. 

“But that was hours ago,” Flynn threw back her head and clung to the hem of Lucy’s pale blue cardigan.

“I know where you get that from,” Wyatt watched as Lucy crooked an eyebrow at the girls and he crossed his arms as he looked between them.

“What? I didn’t make that decision.” Wyatt smirked at Lucy, knowing that it usually worked to distract her even after all these years, but she pinned him with a _stop that_ look and turned back to the girls.

“Well, you’ll have to wait, I have to warm up some leftovers.”

“I got it, Lucy.”

“_Sorry_.” Lucy mouthed at him as he reached into the fridge and pulled out a few leftover cartons of Chinese takeout.

Wyatt shook his head at her as he pulled a plate out of the cabinet and set it on the countertop, dumping the soy-sauce-laden noodles out of the paper container and onto the plate before he popped it into the microwave.

The girls continued to chatter about their friend’s house and her dog and how they would be so good at taking care of one, while Lucy smiled down at them, one arm wrapped around each of their shoulders as she led them toward the bathroom to wash up for dinner.

He picked a leftover cookie off of the tray as he waited for the leftovers to warm and bit into it. They might not be homemade, but Lucy put all her love and energy into them and, to him, that was all that mattered. Plus, Tollhouse knew their way around a cookie, even if it was refrigerated. 

After a few minutes, Lucy came back into the kitchen and pulled down some plates from the cabinet to set the table for dinner, the silverware rattling in the drawer as she pulled it out to grab four forks. When she came back toward him, he stopped her with a hand to her back. A questioning look rose in her eyes as she turned to lean up against the counter next to him, mimicking his stance. 

“So, what was the secret you were going to tell me before we were interrupted, again?” 

Lucy leaned her head against his arm for a moment before pulling back and planting a kiss on the curve of his shoulder, her eyes as warm as melting chocolate chips in freshly baked cookies. 

“Oh, nothing much … just that I love you.”

“That doesn’t sound like nothing or a secret.” Wyatt chuckled as her eyebrows flew up and her face turned outraged again, but he knew she wasn’t truly mad by the smile that crooked the corner of her mouth. 

“Well, I’m sorry if my segue needs work. It seemed too easy to pass up.”

“Hey, I get it. You can’t always be as smooth as me. It's truly a gift.”

“Says the man who couldn’t give me a compliment by Hedy’s pool without also insulting me.”

“I couldn’t help it that time! You were so beautiful and I really just wanted to kiss you again.”

Lucy smoothed a hand along his arm before she wrapped her arms around his waist, tipping her head back to look at him. 

“Well, I guess I can forgive you, if you promise not to get sick of pancakes and takeout.” 

“That I can do, because I have everything I need, right here.” He bent and pressed his forehead to Lucy’s before brushing a soft kiss against her lips. 

”I love you, too.” 

Wyatt walked over to the table and ruffled the girls’ hair, laughing when they both squealed _“Daddy”_ and jumped up from their seats to try and tackle him. 

“Girls!” Lucy called a warning but ended up laughing, while Wyatt allowed himself to be pulled down to the hardwood floors with only a minimum of effort from the girls’ small hands and groaned like he had just been hit with a tranquilizer dart, trying to hold in a laugh at the girls’ adorable, high-pitched giggles.

“Mommy, Mommy! Get Daddy!” Flynn cried, while Amy clung to his side, arms thrown around his stomach like a clinging starfish.

“I don’t think there’s any room for Mommy,” she called, but then she was crouching down next to them, her apple shampoo floating around them as she laid across him, deftly avoiding landing on Amy, and snatched Flynn down with her. 

“Dogpile!” she yelled, her smile bright as the summer sun, and they continued to laugh and tickle each other as the leftovers grew cold.


End file.
